The million dollar question: So what’s the book about?

Ever since I’ve decided to get into the novel writing zone, the question has been plaguing my mind. What will I write? The truth of the matter is that I have no idea. Every time I think about it, the idea slips away from me like water between my fingers.

It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. Ever since I was a child, all I’ve ever done is come up with stores. I haven’t written them all down, but on any given day, I work my way through three to four story ideas at the very least. I always have. Every car ride, every bus ride, every stop on the subway, every night before bed and every long stretch of silence I’ve ever endured in my life has been dedicated to stories. Sometimes I’d do it to entertain myself, other times I’d dream of starting my novel and imagine the content of my first chapter. Sometimes I’d ponder over what fanfiction to write next, and other times I’d hope to someday finish the fanfiction stories I’d already started. If you’ve ever thought me absent-minded or aloof or an outright day dreamer, you’ve been right all along. But I hope you’ll forgive me because I’ve been working my way up to this very question: what will I write about? Sadly, after 30 years, and countless unwritten stories ideas, the answer still happens to be ‘I don’t know’.

I don’t expect to answer this question today, but I hope to get a bit closer to answer at the very least. Let’s rule out the things I know I’m not going to write. As you can probably tell, I’m not much of a comedian. My comic timing mostly involves physical clumsiness, self-deprecation and overall awkwardness that most people find endearing for some reason. As a general rule though, I tend to bring out the vague sentiment of ‘Oh Shivs’, which is usually accompanied by a shake of the head and a snort. So, that is to say that people laugh at me, not with me, which is alright. That being said, I’m not the clown of the class and you won’t see me writing a laugh riot any time soon.

I never really found myself gravitated to mysteries either, though it is a much-loved genre amongst people from all walks of life.  I always like to have an element of mystery in my stories, but that’s just a way of withholding the cards until the right moment presents itself. To dedicate an entire novel to mystery would prove to be too tedious for me however. So not that either. Same with horror, freaks me out, not going to happen. I’d love to write historical fiction like Phillipa Gregory or use art history the way Dan Brown does for that matter, but I’m pretty sure you have to have a solid background in history for something like that. I’m not sure it’s my thing. I won’t rule it out completely though.

Tragic romance, now there is something I could get behind. Most of my favourites have been tragic romances: Fault in Our Stars, Song of Achilles, The Time Traveller’s Wife and The Great Gatsby being at the top of that list. I’ve ached all over after reading these beautiful books, haunted by their characters and shaken by their loss. It’s a bitter-sweet escape and I can’t seem to get enough of it. If I could create characters half as beautiful as the ones in any of these books, I’d be happy. I think I have a knack for romance and an eye for tragedy (pun not intended).

Then there is Young Adult Fantasy Fiction. Oh how I wish I could be as imaginative is the likes of J.K Rowling, Cassandra Clare and Rick Riordan. The arrogant creative in me wants to say yes, I’m all of these and more. But really, the YA section is littered with fantasy series, what could I possibly have to offer? I’d have to put pen to paper for that one and see what comes out, because it’s too vast and too consuming a genre to grasp without having a place to start. But I do know that I’d enjoy writing  fantasy, especially in the YA genre. I think this is another great place to explore.

The next option is to write what I know best: my life. There are a lot of upsides to this. One, I know the plot of the story and the main character is not that hard to pin down. The second is that it would be a true and meaningful topic and has the highest chances of connecting with a large audience. But then there are downsides of it too. I’d have to be braver than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I’d have to see myself as an outsider would and confess to all my shortcomings. But that’s not even the hardest part actually. For a person who talks as much as I do, I only share certain things about my life with a chosen few. Am I ready to expose these other sides of myself to the world, and more importantly to the people I know? And then there’s the matter of everyone featured in the book. Would they be happy to a part of something bigger? Would they feel exposed? And is it fair to put other people’s lives on display, even if I’m okay with putting mine? Those are tough questions to answer, and I’m not sure I’m ready to answer them just yet.

As you can see, I’ve got a bit of exploring to do. Let’s see what the next couple of weeks have to offer. Any suggestions? Thoughts? Ideas?

Of Bucket Lists, Heartbreak and Story-telling.

You remember that time when you were young enough to think that 30-year-olds were actual old people, not people like you? When I was that young, I decided to make a bucket list of things I wanted to do before I was 30, because I essentially equated being 30 to being dead. Woops. Anyway, I have no idea where that list went, but I distinctly remember what was on it.

It went something like this:
 - Get married to an amazing person (because other people want to get married to 'not amazing' people apparently)
 - Travel the world
 - Go sky diving
 - Start my own ad agency
-  Win an advertising award
- Write a book

Having arrived at the dreaded 30-year milestone, I find myself quite pleased with the progress I've made on that list. I did marry an amazing person (Shout out to Paolo), I did travel a significant portion of the world, I have been running my own agency for the past 4 years and I did win silver in one measly award competition. I'm still working on the Sky-diving thing, but the one nut I haven't been able to crack is the 'write a book' part.

You see, I've been dreaming of writing a book my whole life, ever since I was in 3rd grade. I remember sitting on the floor amongst a cluster of 3rd graders, listening to our principle, Mrs Why (I swear that's her name), read out Chronicles of Narnia to us. She was an elderly British lady with short white blonde hair and an elegantly wrinkled face, but it was the way she read that had me so enchanted. In an instant she would transform herself into an ice queen with a high pitched voice, a roaring lion with a low baritone, and a curious little girl with a sweet innocent inflection. The characters came to life when she read them aloud. She was indeed a master-story-teller. And then there was the story itself. The world C.S Lewis built was something I could not even grasp. As Mrs Why read, I escaped into Narnia, never wanting to leave. I yearned to create my own worlds, but I wouldn't dare know where to start. That was the moment of my awakening. I fell madly in love with stories from then on. I read books upon books, escaping into the worlds of Shakepeare, Little Women, Jane Eyre, Sweet Valley Twins and so many others. But even then, my love for books was one-sided. I could read, but I had no notions about my own abilities as a writer.

I had always been an average girl with average skills in all things, unlike my sister who was good at everything, and was known around Bahrain for her sport acumen. I wasn't good at sports due to the fact that I had very poor eyesight and zero hand eye co-ordination.  I loved art but was clumsy with my hands. I downright sucked at math, and was just about alright at all other subjects in school, even English. Especially since English mostly consisted of memorizing spelling and getting verbs and tenses right. It was useful, but not interesting.

My true love for writing came about when I experienced my very first crush, at the tender age of 10. I was introduced to the concept of a crush by a worldly older friend of mine who casually explained that a crush was when a girl liked a boy. She then proceeded to ask me if I'd ever had a crush. I shamefully admitted that I had not. I was the oldest in my grade, so liking a silly and immature boy in my class was out of the question. Outside of school, I lived in a little neighbourhood in Bahrain, filled with boys and girls much older than I. They were all from my sister's school and considered me to be their adopted little sister. So that ruled out pretty much everyone else I knew. But the idea of a having a crush was planted in my mind, and would not let go until I saw it through.

Then one day, a new 'boy' moved back into our neighbourhood. He was home from college to visit his family for the summer. Needless to say, he was much, much older than I. I met him at my previously mentioned older friend's party, where both of us were misfits. I was too young to belong and he too old. I think he took a liking to my precotious ways, and I to the fact that we was willing to indulge me despite my age. Somehow we struck an unlikely friendship that continued to blossom over the course of the summer. We made a funny looking pair as we took daily walks around our buildings, talking about everything and nothing at all for hours on end.

Before I knew it, I had developed my first crush. It was a constant rush of exhilaration, anxiety and hormone-driven melodrama. I was sure nothing would ever come of it. He was too old for me for one thing, and had a very serious crush on someone else we both knew.  These and many other reasons silenced my lips from ever admitting my feelings. I was miserable but I could not stop craving his company, because he was one of the very few friends I had in Bahrain. Even I knew that I was just someone he passed his boredom with, but it mattered little to me. I needed a friend, and he was willing to spend time with a girl who really didn't fit anywhere.

My crush lasted forever. A full 3 years had passed, in which I would wait for his return over the summer and despair his presence, a constant reminder of what I could not have. From the embers of my constant heartbreak, rose the Phoenix of my poetry. Inspired by the 'immortal' lyrics of the Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys and Boy Zone, I one day decided to write my feelings down in rhyme. I wrote pages upon pages poetry. describing at length the agony of being in love. Because at the age of 13, that's what I believed I was experiencing.

It obviously was not very good poetry, because Backstreet Boys...nuf said.. But it wasn't too bad for a kid. I lacked the advantage of having read actual poetry, because it wasn't readily available to me. And I was to shy to show my work to others. But eventually I found that stringing words together came easily to me, and I was at my happiest when I was writing. And one day it stopped being about boys and love-sick melodrama, and starting reflecting life as I saw it. I started to see myself in a new light. No longer was I an average girl with average skills in everything. I had the power of words.  I threw myself into my craft At 14, I become the youngest journalist in a high-end magazine in Bahrain, covering topics on the youth of the Island. I took part in debates and story-writing competitions, and spent all my time reading and writing fan fiction. It was an amazing time to be a kid and to dream of things to come. But even then, I was not sure I was good enough to write an entire book. What story did I even have to tell back then?

Then, I moved to Canada. And got sucked deeper into the world of story-telling. I became the editor of our school magazine, and took on as many English courses as I could manage. I'd even snagged an award in essay-writing, which proceeded to boost my confidence. But alas, it was all leading up to yet another heartbreak.

In grade 11, I was presented with a formidable force by the name of Ms Parker, my English teacher. Accustomed as I was to high praise for my writing, I was sure that grade 11 English would be amazing fun. It was not. Somehow Ms Parker took everything I loved about writing and tore it to shreds one red pen mark at a time. I began to see my writing as fruitless and lacking. With every average grade, my confidence dwindled, until my dream of becoming a full-time writer seemed like a thing of fiction. I tried to recover from my crippling under-confidence in the following year by sticking to all the English courses, but the damage was done. I was afraid of writing. I could not inspire myself with my words, let alone anyone else.

So, I began to think more practically and changed my line of career.  I did still pursue a career in writing. It was all I knew, but I chose the safer route: copywriting. It ensured that I could still use my imagination and my words to inspire action, but it was cushioned by business strategy and market research. Don't get me wrong, I am madly in love with copywriting. It is everything I could want in a career and I never want to stop doing it. But even now, beneath the scars of Ms Parker's criticism and my own belief that I have no story to tell, beats a strong desire to tell stories for the sake of story-telling. As I now stand on the other side of my 30th Birthday, I find that my whole life has indeed been leading up to a story I can tell, and now is the time to learn how to tell it.

This year I'm going to start taking a few courses in creative writing on the side and formally solidify my skills as a novelist. I hope that I don't stand in my own way, and that there is someone out there who will want to read what I have to write. So with this blog, I embark on a new 'chapter' in my life. Let's hope it leads to publishing. I hope you stick by this blog, and take this journey with me. Leave me a note and let me know how you feel about my writing. I hope it gets better over time, and with your help and encouragement, it just might.